Don't Fire 'Til You See The Whites Of Their Eyes
by Moon1
Summary: Barbeque, Airtight, and a little bit of Beantown madness! WARNING: DON'T read this if you will not smile at the lavish amounts of politically-incorrect-nose-thumbing, and some swearing, found here.


**Author's Notes:**

Let me begin by saying again that this piece is NOT Politically Correct. There's swearing too, but above and beyond, this is not politically correct. This story would not work if it were. HOWEVER...that being said, all insults, slights, put-downs and what-have-yous are done with much love and affection, if also with much razzing.

This was a piece I did for a Bootcamp exercise last year. My heartfelt thanks go out to the group at large for critiquing it.

And lastly, though this story IS a year-old, I would like to dedicate this to the memory of my good friend Fitz. True Son of Beantown, Faithful Believer in the Red Sox and Pats, you encouraged me to keep writing, buddy. I just wish you had read this.

Happy St. Paddy's.

* * *

Barbeque should have been having a good time. He had managed to get some leave and had hit his hometown of Boston in time for one of the biggest parties of the year. St.Patrick's Day! When kegs of green beer would be busted out by the truckloads, the time when the pretty co-eds of the town's many colleges would kiss you just for being Irish. Maybe more, if the luck held.

Barbeque REALLY should have been having a good time by now. He would have been, too...if only he hadn't brought a friend along.

It wasn't the fact that he had company that dampened his fun. If he had just brought Shipwreck, or Roadblock, or GungHo...Hell, even the near monastic Lifeline or his CO Duke would have been a better choice! The first three were serious party animals. The last two could at least unwind with a beer, and it'd have been wicked funny to see Lifeline crowded by women who wanted to play 'doctor.' Barbeque suspected that Duke, the good-looking bastard, could give him tips on that subject. But what really counted was that all five of them had SENSE! Even, God help him, Shipwreck had more common sense than that damned nutmeg Airtight! Who, by the way, was now lost somewhere in the crush of Downtown Crossing, the crowded heart of old Boston.

Barbeque had half a mind to just let Airtight wander off on his own!

Of course, the annoyingly responsible half of Barbeque's mind knew that Airtight didn't know Boston enough to dodge trouble. The only part of the area that joker had ever been in was the Charlestown Naval Ship Yard, back when the Joes "borrowed" the USS Constitution. But the old ship's berth was way across the Charles River, too far for Airtight to find without trouble first finding him...or him causing trouble first. And if he were to count on Airtight to NOT pull anything crazy on a town that was half-drunk, Barbeque knew he'd never see the boy again.

And if THAT happened, Duke would kill him.

With a heavy sigh, Barbeque stuffed his hands into the pockets of his dark blue overcoat, turned away from 'The Littlest Bar,' and began looking for his wayward teammate.

"I told him to stay close," he muttered to himself, his eyes scanning the bustling shopping area. "You'd think that he'd have tried to call me on his wrist-com. You'd think he'd ANSWER his wrist-com. But no, that would be too practical." He shook his head. "More New Yorker than New Englander that boy, I swear."

At 1700 hours, it was getting dark fast. He ducked into the Macy's foyer, trying to warm up and think of where Airtight might have gone. Just as he was about to cave in and ask the PIT to give him a GPS lock on his friend, his wrist-com beeped. Crossing his fingers, he answered, "Barbeque here."

"Barbeque, it's Airtight! Get over here quick!"

An exhalation of relief gushed out of his lips, soon followed by, "Airtight! Where the frickin' hell are you?"

"At the park!"

Barbeque frowned. "You mean the Commons?"

"Is that the one across from a church?"

Barbeque strangled his temper and took a deep breath. "Just tell me, how did you get there?"

"Oh, I walked," Airtight told him in an oddly cheerful voice. "I was trying to find you. I hit two or three bars before I heard this drumming"

"Wait. Hold on a second." Barbeque frowned as he picked out certain clues. "You went bar crawling?"

"Weeeeel, I had a beer to go from the first place, and of course they wouldn't let me in the next place with it, so I had to drink it down. Then they threatened to kick me out if I wasn't buying anything, and I still hadn't looked everywhere inside for you yet so"

"You lightweight," Barbeque interrupted, incredulous. "You got shit-faced without me!"

"Yup. Buut," Airtight added in a bright sing-song voice, "I promise to make it up to you."

That brought Barbeque up short. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "How?"

"Just get over here. I'll meet you...um...I'll meet you at...gee, this place is big..."

Barbeque bit back a groan. "You said you were across from a church. If you're facing it, is there a big gold domed building up the street to your left?"

"Hey, yeah!"

"Good. Stay there. Don't move! I'm just a block away."

"Then you can just follow the drumming."

Barbeque's frown turned puzzled. "What drumming?"

The drunken hazmat specialist cackled. "You'll see. Airtight out."

"Oh, hell!" Barbeque hit the door running. Dodging staggering college students, shoppers, and the occasional mounted policemen, he banged the corner so fast he nearly skidded into a snow bank. Sure enough, the sounds of drumming and bagpipes could be heard, getting louder the closer he sprinted towards the large Boston Commons park. Waiting only long enough for the first available break in traffic, he dashed across the road to the northeastern most corner of the Commons. With Park Street Church on the other side of the road, and the gold domed State House up the street to the left, this had to be the place. He tried to spot his friend in the incredibly crowded twilit park. "AIRTIGHT!"

There was a sharp whistle from across the street. Airtight was descending from the steps of the church, wearing a black tri-corner hat and vigorously waving another one at him. "BARBEQUE! OVER HERE!"

Cursing under his breath, Barbeque braved the traffic once more to finally skid to a stop at his friend's side. "I told you...to wait there," he panted.

"But this was too good to pass up," he friend said gleefully, bouncing from foot to foot.

Barbeque eyed the man suspiciously. "I know I'm going to regret asking this, but what are you doing with those tourist trap hats?"

Airtight drew himself up indignantly. "Ben Franklin himself gave me these hats! And he only gave me two," he plopped it on Barbeque's head, "because I told him I wanted one for you too."

Barbeque tilted back the stiffened felt hat for a better glare the hazmat specialist. "Ben Franklin? You mean the tourist guide who impersonates Ben Franklin? You went all the way over to Quincy Market?"

"So I overshot where I thought you'd be." He shrugged. "That's not the important part." He dragged Barbeque up the steep brick stairs and turned him around so that he was facing the park. "Check it out."

At a higher vantage spot, Barbeque could finally see over the crowd and spot the reason for such a draw. There, lined up like neat rows of red poppies in the middle of the winter barrens, was a detachment of drummers and bagpipers wearing the distinctive ceremonial coats of the British Army. Above them, held aloft by two standard bearers, flew the British Union Jack, and the red and black-banded flag bearing the golden crest of the Irish Guard. They were in the midst of playing an old favorite, 'The Minstrel Boy.'

Barbeque straightened and whistled appreciatively. "Hey, now there's a sight!"

"I know!" Airtight snorted. "The nerve of those guys! Doing that on today of all days!"

The firefighter did a double-take. "Say what?"

"Don't you know your own town's history? Ben was just telling me"

"You mean the tourist guide impersonating Ben Franklin."

Airtight huffed. "I never got his real name, okay? Anyways, Ben was telling me about today's holiday."

"St.Patrick's Day?"

"No! Evacuation Day!"

Barbeque blinked in confusion. Slowly, the light dawned. "Oh yeah. Almost forgot about that." He chuckled. "My Dad thought it was a great excuse for the city to take a day off on St.Paddy's"

"It's not an excuse, it's unique! It's historical! March 17, 1776, the day the British got chased out of the city! Boston's the only town from the Revolutionary War that's got a holiday like this. New Haven certainly doesn't."

Barbeque patted his friend's shoulder. "And that must be why we Bostonians take pity on you poor Connecticut Yankees."

The hazmat specialist shrugged the hand off. "C'mon, Barbeque, look at it! George Washington would be turning over in his grave to see that Brit flag here. Heck, there's a graveyard full of old patriots at the side of this church that's probably flipping over in the dirt as we speak."

"Airtight, that's the Irish Drum and Pipe Corp of the British Army's Royal Household Division. They're probably doing a public practice for the big St.Paddy's parade on Sunday."

"And that makes it alright? Barbeque, they're RED-COATS!"

Barbeque arched his eyebrows high. "You, me boy-o, have been drinking waaaaay too much."

"And you," Airtight countered, "haven't been drinking enough." He pulled a flask from his pocket. "Here."

Barbeque took the metal flask. "What is it?"

"Good ol' Bailey's Irish cream whiskey. Got it from a nice little place called 'The Black Rose.' Drink up."

"Airtight," Barbeque said in a light voice. "I know you. You're trying to get me drunk enough to agree to something crazy." He tapped the flask against the other man's chest. "Spill. What are you up to?"

The hazmat specialist leaned forward with a gleam in his eye. "Just a little Evacuation Day re-enactment."

"I...see." Barbeque crossed his arms. "And I suppose you were going to ask Ben if he could lend you a horse? Or were you going to just charge them on foot?"

Airtight grinned broadly. "Nope." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Take a look."

Feeling an odd sense of dread and curiosity, Barbeque trotted down the stairs and leaned over.

Tied to the iron wrought gates of the church's cemetery were a pair of police horses; gray, bay, and alone.

Airtight was all but dancing where he stood. "Just before you got here, the cops went across the street into Dunkin' Donuts. They're still there! How cool is that?"

"Clichéd is more like it," Barbeque groaned into his hand.

"C'mon, you said your Boy Scout troop used to take you guys riding too, right?"

"And that's why I'm saying WHOA! Airtight, you know I like a good joke now and then." Barbeque grabbed his friend by the coat lapels and shook him. "But this. Is. In. Sane! They're Irish soldiers, and they're here as our guests. So far as I know, THESE red-coats haven't done anything to deserve another ass-kicking. It's not like they're spitting in our faces by playing"

At that exact moment, the familiar, mocking strains of 'Yankee Doodle' piped into the air. This time, the voices of the Guards rose up as well, singing the older, British lyrics about their bumpkin American cousins.

_"Brother Ephraim sold his Cow  
And bought him a Commission;  
And then he went to Canada  
To fight for the Nation; _

_O, Yankee Doodle keep it up!  
__Yankee Doodle Dandy,  
__Mind the music and the steps  
__And with the girls be handy!"_

Both New Englanders froze. Slowly, they faced the Irish Drum Guard with hardened eyes.

_"But when Ephraim he came home  
He proved an arrant Coward,  
He wou'dn't fight the Frenchmen there  
For fear of being devour'd! _

_O, Yankee Doodle keep it up!_  
_Yankee Doodle Dandy,  
__Mind the music and the steps  
__And with the girls be handy!"_

Airtight grabbed the flask from Barbeque and took a swig. "So," he asked mildly. "You with me?"

Barbeque snatched the flask and took a deep, long pull. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and threw the empty flask onto the ground. "Hell, yes!" He jerked his head. "Mount up." The Joes untied the horses and swung into the saddles. After a moment of fussing, the horses settled down and the pair picked their way across traffic. They paused only long enough to collect certain donations for their cause from willing cart vendors and souvenir sellers. They secured the items to their saddles before navigating around the thickest part of the crowd until they found an opening of least resistance.

"CHARGE!"

That was the only warning the Irish Drum Guard got before they found themselves attacked by the two crazed Americans on horseback, firing souvenir sling-shots loaded with beer bottles at them. The crowd and the Drum Corp split in half, diving for the ground. Airtight ,on his bay, overshot the Corp and flew right past them. Barbeque pulled up in the center of the Corp, rearing his gray horse high.

"You frickin' lobster-back garbage," Barbeque shouted down at them. "You want another Yankee Doodle ass-kicking? Well FINE!" He pulled a Sam Adams beer bottle from one of the garbage bags tied to his saddle and notched it back. "Sammy A sends his regards!" He fired at the drum major.

The Irish officer ducked. "RETREAT!" And with that, the whole Irish Drum and Pipes Corp, pride of the British Army's Royal Household Division, picked up and ran.

"Run, you lobsters-backs, run," Barbeque shouted, grinning like a maniac as they galloped after the Corp down Tremont Street. "Remember, Airtight, we've got limited ammo, so don't fire 'til you see the whites of their eyes!"

"Don't worry, Barbeque! We've got enough for a fine fox hunt tonight!" Airtight threw his head back and crowed. "I LOVE THIS TOWN!"


End file.
